


Blind Spot

by Urie_Mazing



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Glasses!Fic, I'm shameless lmao, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, the boys are clueless, this was a rp first I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:59:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23427373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urie_Mazing/pseuds/Urie_Mazing
Summary: Sherlock has to get glasses, and is a bit embarrassed to wear them. John loves them and has developed a bit of an obsession. However, not everyone shares John's view of Sherlock's glasses, and John has to convince the man to keep wearing them without letting on exactly how much he likes the way Sherlock looks in them.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 67





	Blind Spot

**Author's Note:**

> I am in no way a writer, but this idea has just been bugging me and I don't see too many fics with Sherlock being the one with the glasses? anyway, this was an Omegle RP first, so if ur the one who did this with me, let me know! It was adorable and I feel like everyone had to read haha. I did tweak it a little so the writing style was cohesive instead of a talk and response thing. 
> 
> I am sorry in advance for possibly bad writing! This is also not brit-picked or beta-read and I barely spellcheck myself so there's that lmao

John always knew Sherlock was going to drive him mad someday. He didn't know it would be so soon, and he certainly didn't know it would be about _glasses_. 

John was perfectly fine taking (forcing) Sherlock to the eye doctor once he was starting to squint more on crime scenes and while he was trying to read by the fireplace. The man would squint into that damn microscope for hours, and get frustrated and stomp over to the couch and sulk on it for hours.

So, action had to be taken. John dragged Sherlock to the eye doctor, and made him concede to the fact that he was going to need eyeglasses. He even helped Sherlock pick the frames out, standing in the doctor's office for over two hours, and maybe he should have known then, when he kept making Sherlock put them on 'just to make sure,' that he was investing a little too much interest in what went on the man's face. While they waited for the lenses to come in the post, he kept thinking about it. The three days being counted down, and the hours ticking slowly. When they finally were ready to be picked up, John didn't even get to be there when Sherlock got them. He came home and Sherlock was just sat in his chair, reading some large book, and looking... like that. Too good looking to even be remotely legal.

For days, Sherlock would take them off when people were around, but John could tell he was using them for his reading when he thought John wouldn't see. It was almost sweet the way he would be comfortable wearing them, then when John sat across from him, he'd take them off and go on his phone for something else. It was as if he was a bit shy about it all, maybe afraid to admit he wasn't so invincible and perfect as everyone believed.

Sherlock himself still hated them, hated the way his glasses fogged up when he drank hot tea and coffee, hated the way they looked on his face, and deeply hated when something would smudge them. The only thing that made it all worth it was that all the headaches he’d get after long cases, reducing him to even longer days laid on the couch with his eyes closed, were basically eradicated once he stopped straining his eyes so often.

After a week or two, and Sherlock finally realizing he actually functioned much better on cases if he could see, the glasses were suddenly a staple. In fact, the day Sherlock finally brought them to a scene, he stood there and blinked at the corpse in the chair for a full ten minutes and looked up, smiling, already having solved it. John supposed actually seeing everything clearly, the man could pick up on everything much faster and much easier than before ("John, I must have been functioning at approximately 67% of my total capacity because of my sight impairment, this is _brilliant_ ,") so now they were very needed at crime scenes. 

However.

All of Scotland Yard have definitely noticed Sherlock's glasses, and he wasn't totally sure if they were making fun of him before now, but he could only hold out hope that Sherlock hasn't been paying attention to them. Lestrade, as expected, hadn't really cared about Sherlock's new look, but Thing 1 and Thing 2 clearly did. Donovan and Anderson had their eyes set on Sherlock from day one, and him getting his lovely new glasses didn't help matters much. They seemed to keep trying to take pictures of the man in secret, probably sending them back and forth, making jokes behind Sherlock's back (literally) and assuming since they weren't saying anything out loud that nobody would notice. 

Today, possibly, they just decided to forego to phones, maybe the phones died, and instead chose to just snicker to themselves just outside of the room where Sherlock was currently perched next to the victim, examining the body in quick detail. His stormy eyes flicking around the scene quickly to find anything to lead him to the right answer. John looked over as soon as he heard them start laughing loudly, and Donovan gasp "God, I didn't realize he could get any more weird looking," as quietly as she could while she was laughing. Sherlock stood up straight at the comment and whirled out of the room, rambling deductions almost too fast for John to hear himself, Lestrade scrambling to follow. Sherlock usually whipped his glasses off after looking at the scene, but today he forgot, and just rambled on, walking off the scene with them still sweetly perched on his nose, head ducked down a bit, making them slide down his nose just so. Lestrade huffed in annoyance at the quick pace, and looked at John helplessly, and John gave him his best 'if he leaves, I promise I'll text it all to you' look. 

They'd almost gotten out to the street to catch a cab (presumably to home), when Anderson laughed particularly loud at something Donovan said, and looked at Sherlock. "You're right, not only is he a freak now, he's a freak with four eyes." Anderson snorted, and the two of them started laughing again. John gritted his teeth and fixed them with a hard glare, and while Donovan quieted a little, Anderson just laughed more at John's unhappy look. Sherlock almost kept walking as if he didn't notice, but clearly he heard, and he was flushing from embarrassment before he quickly whipped the frames off of his nose and shoved them in his pocket haphazardly. John frowned at the lack of care towards them and followed Sherlock off the scene until they got into the cab. 

John looked at him curiously, trying to read Sherlock the way Sherlock always read John. He was turned away from John, and his coat was wrapped protectively around himself, arms crossed indignantly over his chest. Sherlock’s face was turned away from him, and he was eerily still for a man who was always vibrating with unspent energy. Clearly the comment didn't leave him unaffected. John licked his lips and figured the best approach was a casual, soft one. “Sherlock, are you alright? You… seem upset.” John said gently. 

Sherlock whipped his head over to look at John, frowning a little and obviously putting on his usual mask of indifference again to cover up whatever was going on between those eyes. “Obviously I’m not upset, John. A twelve year old could come up with better insults than ‘four eyes,’” Sherlock snapped, but the blush spreading over his cheeks gave him away. 

John inwardly sighed at the deflection, and swallowed whatever mean comment he was going to say against Donovan and Anderson, figuring it wouldn’t help. The last thing he wanted was to say something stupid like ‘well, _they’re_ no peach either,’ and have Sherlock say ‘well, does that mean I am also not a peach, john?’ and have John fumbling to take his own foot out of his mouth. John just shrugged a little and nodded, “True, they’re idiots, and they’re unimaginative.” John agreed easily, “They just don’t see you the way I see you.” John stated firmly, ignoring the blaring alarms that he’d said too much. Hiding strong feelings from the most observant man in the world was no easy feat, so any kind of hint or slip could give him away. John looked away from Sherlock, turning his head to face his window, not letting Sherlock read his expressions. 

Sherlock on the other hand, whipped his head around at the comment, and ignored the itch of wishing he could see perfectly without his glasses, so he could try to read that last comment for meaning just by looking at John's face. But, alas, John was turned away. Sherlock hummed a little to agree with John that they were idiots, then pushed on, wishing John would just turn his head so he could look for some kind of giveaway as to why he was being overly kind. “Well, I did let you help me pick them out, so I would hope that you would have chosen something that would compliment me,” Sherlock replied simply, watching John for a reaction.   
  
John had his head turned, pretending to be deeply invested in the passing people and buildings of London so that Sherlock would just stop staring at him. The man’s stare, while John was used to it, felt almost as tangible as a hand on his shoulder. John huffed a little laugh, the peaks of his cheeks tinting vaguely pink. “True, unless this was some elaborate prank on you, I definitely intended on the glasses looking good on you at least a little,” John said casually, and once he’d finally felt like he’d schooled his features not to give anything away, he looked back to Sherlock. “Honestly, you shouldn’t let them bother you. I personally can’t take my eyes off of… t-the glasses.” John finished lamely, quickly looking back out the window leaning on his elbow with his hand in his palm. 

Christ, he couldn’t even talk about the glasses without blushing like an idiot. John knew it was about three more minutes back to Baker Street, and he couldn’t be more excited to just retreat back to his tea and finish writing up their last case. Maybe if he was lucky, Sherlock would pick a good, long book, and sit by the fire with his glasses and read. Possibly, if he was very very lucky, the man would go completely still while reading, making him completely oblivious to the outside world, and John could just stare at him a bit, admiring the way the fire reflected off the lenses, and the frames slid down Sherlock’s nose just so. 

Sherlock just stared, and started trying to figure out what John was playing at. It was obvious he was hiding something by the way he was looking away from him, and it burned in Sherlock’s chest not to know what it was. He couldn’t figure out a single thing John would need to hide from him in this instance. He noted the way John second guessed his reply before finishing his sentence, and it only served to confuse him more. Why would he not be able to look away from his glasses? Was it like a car crash; So horrible you can’t bring yourself to look away?

“I suppose it will take some time for you to get used to them on me,” Sherlock concluded, “As for Anderson and Donovan, it’s easier said than done. Perhaps I’d be better off getting contact lenses instead.” He muttered, not wanting to say anymore than that. Sherlock wasn’t one to talk about his feelings very openly, and he wasn’t about to start over a silly pair of glasses. Maybe if he went to the eye doctor he wouldn’t have to deal with any of this. 

John was almost glad Sherlock didn’t read into his comment the wrong way, but then his stomach sank quickly, and John frowned over at Sherlock. No more glasses? “What?” John blurted, and looked over Sherlock’s person, deeply unsettled at the thought of never seeing Sherlock with his glasses perched on his nose at crime scenes anymore, only ever seeing them just before bed when the contacts would come out. Unacceptable. “You can’t get contacts.” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked over John carefully, “And why not?” 

John his eyes a little wild as he scrambled for a reason why Sherlock couldn’t get contacts, the man’s eyes boring into him like lasers. “Contacts wouldn’t be suitable to your lifestyle, they’d probably annoy you. You sleep basically whenever you exhaust yourself to the point of being unable to keep your eyes open. You can’t sleep in contacts, so you’d have to take them out all the time, and take care of them. They’re fragile. You do the oddest experiments, so some power could always get caught in your contacts, and be dangerous. Also, they dry your eyes. You won’t be able to go through a long stakeout without either a bottle of contact solution or without taking them off and using your glasses anyway.” John babbled, coming up with more and more on the spot. He still felt the vague sense of panic at the thought of Sherlock just not wearing glasses anymore. 

Sherlock regarded John slowly, taking in his mild panic at the prospect of Sherlock ditching his glasses. Why would he care so much? 

“I suppose you’re right.” Sherlock looked forward when the cab pulled to a stop. John sighed a little in relief, and after they paid the cabbie, he basically jumped out of the car, feeling like the cab was suddenly suffocating him in his own awkwardness. John’s unrequited affections were getting him into more trouble than usual today, so he had to get away from them as soon as absolutely possible. Sherlock was going to notice the real reason for his attachment to the glasses if he kept up his ridiculous behavior. 

Sherlock followed John gracefully, walking up to the door and sliding his glasses out of his pocket. He perched them on the top of his head, nestled comfortably in his curls. Sherlock then pulled out his keys and opened the door for them. John wet his lips, his eyes stuck back on the glasses sat innocently on Sherlock’s head. Even the way they sat on the top of his head was lovely. He needed to get a grip. He muttered a small thank you for unlocking and opening the door for him, and moved by him, taking the stairs two at a time, almost desperate to get some tea into his system. “Sherlock, I’m going to make tea, you want some?” John said as he opened the door to the sitting room and wandered to the kitchen.  
  
Sherlock followed him at an even pace, wondering how he could steer the conversation back to John’s odd behavior and try to figure out where it all had come from. “Yes, sure, thank you.”

John pulled down all the materials to make the tea, getting out the mugs first, then their respective tea bags, setting them in the mugs as he started the kettle. John looked over to Sherlock and found the man was staring at him, and John turned back to get out a box of biscuits, digging in the cabinet for the cadbury chocolate fingers he knew Sherlock liked to go with the tea. “Everything alright?” John asked simply, wondering if maybe he had something on him that Sherlock saw or something like that. 

Sherlock hummed, “Yes. Fine.” He responded easily, pulling his coat and scarf off, hanging them up quickly to get back to John. He moved to the table, and pulled his glasses down onto his face, looking down and looking through the mail Mrs. Hudson must have left on the table. He didn’t really care about the mail, he just wanted to see how John would respond to the glasses. He watched John carefully out of the corner of his eyes, sifting aimlessly through the mail. 

John turned after setting the biscuits on a plate, and moved towards Sherlock, setting the plate on the table in front of him. Whatever he was going to say, though, died in his throat, and he just licked his lips and flushed a little at the sight of Sherlock in his glasses again. John chastised himself internally for staring a little too much, and quickly looked down and away. John grabbed his laptop and opened it up, logging in and sitting at the table. John snuck another look up at Sherlock, his lips parting a little, and then he self-consciously bit and nibbled at his lip subconsciously as he admired Sherlock. 

See, it wasn’t that John felt Sherlock looked better in glasses, or that he wasn’t attractive before the glasses, it’s just that John had really started to get used to Sherlock’s ethereal good looks, then when he got the glasses, it was another reminder of his lovely features. Somehow they called attention to John’s favorite things, he loved the way the sides of the glasses brought John’s focus to his ridiculous cheekbones. He loved the way the nose pads connected the frames to his face, and called focus to the swoop of the bridge of his nose, which then led John’s eyes down to Sherlock’s perfect cupid’s bow lips. That’s not even mentioning the way the glasses force one to look at Sherlock’s kaleidoscope eyes. 

John blinked a couple times out of his stupor and peeled his eyes off Sherlock, and back to his computer, a bit frustrated at his inability to keep his eyes to himself. Sherlock regarded John’s reaction to the glasses, the man biting his lip and staring at him in a way that made his stomach flip. Sherlock frowned, and straightened his spine as he had a small epiphany. However… even if it was true, it was hard to believe. All the clues pointed to John feeling… attraction to him at the very minimum. He seemed to like the way Sherlock looked in the glasses between his vehement denial of Sherlock getting contacts, and his slightly heated stare. Sherlock looked over John, who was just tapping away at his laptop, and paced a bit. Suddenly, they were both startled by the kettle whistling for attention.

John jumped a little, and looked at the kettle. He mumbled some kind of frustration at forgetting about the kettle, and walked over to pour the tea. Sherlock sat across from where John sat himself down, and picked up a biscuit, and nibbled on it, watching John as he worked on the tea. John turned, setting the mugs on the table, and looked at Sherlock suspiciously. He had that look in his eyes that meant he was planning something. “What are you so deep in thought about?” John asked lightheartedly. 

Sherlock leaned forward on both his elbows, and took a quick sip of tea, regarding John before speaking. He could easily fool John with a lie, or just talk about anything else, but he just adjusted his glasses a bit, and fixed John with an easy stare. “You.” Sherlock replied simply, taking a sip of his tea as he waited to absorb John’s response.   
  
John nearly felt hot tea go up his nose at just one word falling from Sherlock’s lips, and he cleared his throat a little. “Uh, me? That’s nice. Or… Is it? You haven’t drugged me again have you? Done anything weird with my things?” John hummed, trying to steer away from the conversation he felt maybe Sherlock was trying to have. He wasn’t ready for another one of Sherlock’s ‘not my area’ talks with him. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I only drugged you once, John.” he drawled easily, and stood up, walking around the table, closer to John.  
  
“Once was enough, Sherlock. Really.” John said firmly, his heart pumping hard against his ribcage as Sherlock stalked closer to him, feeling very much like prey.  
  
Sherlock leaned against the table just next to John, and tilted his head a little. “I’ve apologized for it. You’ve been acting odd lately,” Sherlock leered, setting his mug down on the table behind him, putting his hands in his trouser pockets. John’s eyes followed Sherlock’s hands from his mug to his pockets, and then he looked back to his laptop.

“Me? I haven’t been acting odd, I don’t _feel_ odd. I mean, I don’t think I’ve been acting any differently than I ever have,” John said, feeling very much like Sherlock was interrogating him, cataloging every word he said, and every move he made. It was sort of exhilarating and also absolutely terrifying to be the object of Sherlock’s intense focus. He could see why the suspects ran. He felt the hard compulsion to change the subject, not even caring how transparent he was being by doing so. “Uh, where was that, uh, shoelace you found? The one that led you to the suspect a couple days ago? It’s for the blog.” 

Sherlock’s smile turned predatory, and John’s heart pounded. “The dumpster outside of the flat, remember? Don’t change the subject, John. Are you sure about that? You don’t sound too sure about your answer,” Sherlock said slowly, and when John wouldn’t look at him, he reached over and closed the laptop. John blinked up at Sherlock, the tips of his ears turning red in embarrassment. 

“If I had to pinpoint exactly when you started acting odd, it’s when I got these glasses… Does that ring a bell? Did something happen that I didn’t know about?” Sherlock said bluntly. 

“Nope. No, nothing out of the ordinary,” John denied quickly, then mentally backtracked - he’d denied it too quickly. Easy sign of guilt. John felt himself sweat a little, and get a little warm under the shirt. John sighed a little and gave Sherlock a small grin, “Why do you ask? In what way have I been acting odd?” John said, prying for some information he could use to spin this back around to platonic interest. 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes a little at John. The man was clever, and he was doing a decent job of trying to deter Sherlock. Sherlock leaned into John’s space a little, and hummed, wanting to use physical proximity to make John crack. John was clearly uncomfortable with him being close, or smiling too sweetly, it all just made him suspicious and on edge.

“You keep looking at me when you think I can’t see you, and you do it more when I’m wearing the glasses.” Sherlock said, his voice a little softer, reaching over and taking John’s wrist in his hands, subtly trying to take his pulse, and John knew he was caught. His heart was clearly trying to bust out of his chest and leap into Sherlock’s hands itself without John’s help. He knew Sherlock pulled his move on Irene, and now he was using it on John. “Why?” 

John blinked, looking down at Sherlock’s hand around his wrist and back up at Sherlock’s face, standing up and pulling his hand away. “Sherlock, don’t do this.” John said gently, feeling like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. 

Sherlock licked his own lips and stood up, moving towards John when he moved away. “John… I think I figured you out.” Sherlock hoped he didn’t lose John over this. “John… I think you know how I feel about you. I think you’re… struggling with it, probably.” Sherlock flushed a little. 

John blinked, and then looked down at his shoes, and pressed his lips together tightly as he tried not to get upset.   
  
“Sherlock. Stop. You don’t need to rub it in.” John interrupted quickly, causing Sherlock to reel back a bit, “Fine. Ok? Fine. You’ve figured it out. Very clever. Yes, I know your feelings towards me. You told me the day we met that you’re married to your work, and I’ve respected that, so much. These glasses, just… They really broke my resolve. You’re already so mind-numbingly attractive, and I didn’t think you could ever be any more distracting than you already were. Then you got those… glasses. You just… They look so good on you, it’s not my fault you look so lovely in them, Sherlock, I tried, I really tried. I had everything under control. But those glasses really just… They remind me how good you look all the bloody time, and…” John took a deep breath, and looked down at the floor. “If you could just… delete that. That would be lovely. I’m not going to… nevermind.” John huffed a little, his cheeks flaming with humiliation. 

Sherlock blinked at John and as the man looked up at him, he was frozen stock still, his lips parted, just staring at John. John nodded a little to himself. “Right. I’m just gonna go on a walk, or something-” John moved to walk by Sherlock to get to the door, when his wrist was grabbed again, stopping him. John turned to find Sherlock still staring at him.   
  
“You’re not going to what?” Sherlock said, his voice coming out a little more hoarse than intended.   
  
John licked his lips, and swallowed hard. “I’m not going to… expect anything from you. I know… it’s not your area.” John muttered. 

Sherlock kept his vice grip on John’s wrist as he tried to work through all the questions running through his mind. How long has John thought about him that way? Since the beginning? Does it go beyond physical attraction? 

“I can’t… I can't just forget about this. I didn’t even know you were interested in men… H-How long have you felt this way?” Sherlock said, moving closer to John, and feeling a little lightheaded. "I-I thought..."

John stared back at Sherlock, feeling like he had to make a choice. Lie to Sherlock, try to save the friendship, or tell the truth, just come clean and let it out. He hated lying to Sherlock, because he could usually see right through it anyways. He had to be honest. “Sherlock, you can forget about all this. You don’t have to worry about me, I know you’re not interested in me. I’m not asking you to change. I know the work comes first. I do.” John pleaded. He could easily break Sherlock’s grip, but he just let the man hold him there. “I’m not usually into men. Just a fling here or there. It never meant anything. Nothing… Nothing like you.” John breathed, feeling everything come pouring out, “I don’t know how long I’ve been looking, I mean, always. Always. The glasses just… look really good on you. Hard to ignore.” John said dumbly, and looked down at his wrist and his shoulders fell a little. “Let go, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock numbly let go of John, still staring, but John didn’t move. Sherlock took a second to internalize everything, and as much as John wanted to run, he knew he couldn’t. If he ran now he’d ruin their friendship. They had to confront this and talk about it. 

“I am interested, John,” Sherlock blurted after almost two long minutes. John’s lips parted in surprise, but he couldn’t even bring himself to say anything. 

“I care a lot about my work. But I had just met you then. I care more about _you_ now. I didn’t know you liked men, so I didn’t look for any signs. I couldn’t… I didn’t want to fall in love with a man who couldn’t love me in return, and I couldn’t lose you if you didn’t feel the same way,” Sherlock admitted, “I wanted you in my life in any way I could have you. Even if that was just flatmates.” 

John felt like he was in an alternate dimension, and he just blinked slowly, trying to process even the concept of Sherlock loving him in return, let alone the actual reality of the situation. Sherlock cared about him more than the _work_. John gaped, opening and closing his mouth stupidly, like a fish. He shuffled a little closer to Sherlock, “I… Sherlock, I want to kiss you all the time. I stare when you read because you’re beautiful. I am into men, but not really all men, just you. I-I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you,” John took a calming breath, letting the air fill his lungs then let it out slowly before reaching up with his hand, his palm coming into contact with Sherlock’s cheek, cupping his jaw lightly. “If you want me, all you’d ever have to do is ask.” John breathed. 

Sherlock blinked a bit of fogginess from his eyes and nodded a little. “I want you.” He whispered, “I’m asking.” 

Sherlock curled his hands into John’s jumper, holding onto him, as if he was the only thing keeping the man from falling over, and he bent down a little. John felt his hand shake a little before he dipped his eyes closed and leaned in, closing the distance easily. John felt like his stomach was quivering from the butterflies, and his chest felt like it was simultaneously expanding and constricting his lungs. John tilted his head a little, and Sherlock responded in kind, both hands now curled in John’s jumper, keeping him tightly bound to him. 

John pulled away a little and noted how Sherlock’s glasses had fogged a little. He felt his blood rush to his ears as the adrenaline from taking this jump with Sherlock sped through his veins. Sherlock smiled a little at him, looking like he had stars in his eyes. “I’m yours,” John said softly, and reached up to brush a stray curl from Sherlock’s forehead. 

“And I’m yours, John Watson,” Sherlock echoed breathlessly, and leaned in to give John another kiss, melting into it a bit more. The first one was like the tingle of coming into a warm house from the cold. The second feeling more and more like the hot tea you drink as you warm up. 

John pulled away again, and grinned stupidly up at Sherlock, feeling lovesick and disgustingly happy, as he leaned in to whisper in Sherlock’s ear, “You know, you should really wear your glasses more often.” 

~  
  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)  
> If there's some things misspelled that I didn't catch, kindly ignore it hahaha  
> Hope you enjoyed!


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